


i know you and you know me (we got telepathy)

by infiniteandsmall



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Canon, best friends helping each other figure things out and caring for each other, drug use ment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9864728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteandsmall/pseuds/infiniteandsmall
Summary: They pass Chris, who is nodding along to something his coach is saying. Viktor tosses his arms around Chris’s waist.“See you later, Giacometti!” he chirps, hooking his chin over Chris’s shoulder. Chris turns his head and tries to nip at Viktor’s cheek.Viktor darts away, and Yakov seizes the opportunity, grabbing Viktor by the wrist and towing him down the hall, muttering about “boy-crazy oversexed skaters.”Chris’s snickers follow them.“Yakov!” Viktor says. “Me?”“I liked it better when you just kissed your posters of Stephane Lambiel and pretended that you didn’t,” Yakov says.-It's good to have a best friend. It's even better to have a best friend who you can sleep with.It's the best to have a best friend who holds your hand no  matter what.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from telepathy by christina aguilera  
> feelings, porn, more feelings.  
> i don't usually porn esp not gay male characters because i am a grey ace lesbian but ??? here's what this mania-fueled ??? is. but i have a lot of feelings about bipolar viktor, also adhd viktor, also chris'n'vik as gay best friends who can explore their sexuality and figure themselves out together knowing that they love and care about each other a lot makes me emotional, because gay friendships make the world go 'round.  
> pretty funny that i wrote about viktor being manic while i was manic. projecting??? i dont know her!!

Viktor had thought that maybe the itchy hum burrowed under his skin would go away after Europeans

His head is quiet when he’s on the ice. The stretch and burn of his muscles makes him realize the exact shape of him, a shape that gets lost when he’s off the ice and his thoughts cluster in an orbit outside his body like an electron cloud.

He wins, and as he stands on the podium, his hands shake. He feels like he could skate both programs over again, and the energy is too much, an ache that won’t go away.

Chris stands next to him, and they hold up their medals together, silver and gold, for the flash of cameras. Chris’s shoulders curve tired but the adrenaline’s kept that from leaking into his smile, which glows bright and wide.

He and Chris have already agreed to meet up after the competition was done. Asking Chris if he’d wanted to had been more a confirmation than a question: at this point, if Viktor doesn’t answer Yakov’s texts after a competition that Chris also competed in Yakov just goes to Chris’s hotel room and starts pounding on the door. They don’t always have sex: Viktor’s pretty sure no one would believe that if he said it, but sometimes they just gossip, or go out, or sleep wrapped up together because Viktor hates being alone in those big hotel beds. They also have sex a lot, of course. Considering that Chris’s been sending dick pics at an unforeseen rate, Viktor’s pretty sure that any gossiping’s been shelved for the night. Viktor thinks of getting fucked _hard,_ and _yes,_ that’ll shut his head up.

He shoots Chris a conspiratorial little smile and Chris’s smile turns into a smirk for a split second.

Viktor is flippant during the press conference, flippant when Yakov scolds him for being flippant during the press conference.

They pass Chris, who is nodding along with something his coach is saying. Viktor tosses his arms around Chris’s waist.

“See you later, Giacometti!” he chirps, hooking his chin over Chris’s shoulder. Chris turns his head and tries to nip at Viktor’s cheek.

Viktor darts away, and Yakov seizes the opportunity, grabbing Viktor by the wrist and towing him down the hall, muttering about “boy-crazy oversexed _skaters."_ Chris’s snickers follow them.

“Yakov!” Viktor says. “Me?”

“I liked it better when you just kissed your posters of Stephane Lambiel and pretended that you didn’t,” Yakov says.

 

Viktor meets Chris at his hotel room. They’re going to go to a club, and Viktor thinks of the loud music and the lights and the buzz of alcohol and he wants, a frantic and scattered and disorganized wanting. Chris is wearing jeans with more rips than fabric, showing a layer of fishnet tights underneath, bisecting the muscles of his thighs into repeating stretched squares. Viktor’s wearing his jeans low on his hips and a croptop, because he knows his hipbones are lethal, and glitter on his cheekbones because he knows those are lethal, too.

“Vain,” Chris says. “You know how hot you are.”

“So do you,” Viktor says back.

Chris grins and tugs him into the room, shuts the door and pins Viktor to it. They both love to be held down and they both know it. The feeling of Chris’s weight holding Viktor still against the hard flat press of the door feels like an exhale. Viktor squirms just to test the strength of Chris’s grip on his hips. He thinks about peeling off Chris’s fishnets.

“Why don’t we just stay here?” Viktor says.

“Because,” Chris says, “I fucking love watching guys feel you up and then realize you’re going home with me.”

Viktor feels his face get hot. He thinks of the feeling of anonymous hands on him, everyone wanting him and knowing that they can’t have him.

Chris is the only person Viktor knows who can make eyelashes so long they brush his cheeks look predatory. “Let’s go dancing, yeah?” he says.

 

They giggle their way up to Chris’s hotel room when they get back from the club, Viktor laughing because at the moment, the sight of Chris cursing as he fumbles with his keycard is the funniest thing in the world.

“Shut up,” Chris says. “Fuck you!”

“Oh, you’d better!” Viktor says, drawing a finger down the side of Chris’s neck dramatically.

“Viktor, no,” Chris says. “It’s your turn!”

“What, do you write it down or something?” Viktor says. “I don’t remember you fucking me last time.”

“Hey!” Chris says indignantly as he unlaces his boots.

Viktor kicks off his shoes and launches himself on the bed, spreads himself out and stretches with his hands over his head until his muscles relax. He arches his back so his shirt rides up even higher. The pleasure of the stretch, and the feel of Chris’s eyes on him, and the sheets soft on the small of his back are all so good, and he heaves a big exaggerated sigh. “Ple-ease, Chris?” he says. “I’ve been thinking about it literally _all_ day.”

Chris sighs. “Fine,” he relents.

“If it’s _such_ a chore--” Viktor starts, batting his eyelashes, but Chris climbs onto the bed.

“Shut up,” he says, straddling Viktor’s waist. His jeans are rough and his thighs are warm. Viktor hooks a finger through Chris’s fishnets, a thrill running up his spine, before Chris grabs the hem of Viktor’s shirt, wrestles it over his head, Viktor lifting his arms obligingly to let Chris slide it off. The way Chris looks at him, like he could get off on just the way Viktor looks pinned between his thighs, makes Viktor shudder. Viktor knows his hair must be fanning out on the pillow and sticking to his neck with sweat, glitter smeared in his face, that he must look breathless and desperate.

“God,” Chris says, presses a hand against Viktor’s chest and kisses him, hard and messy. Viktor still feels wild with bass, everything buzzing in his ears even in the quiet of the hotel room. He squirms, trying to wiggle out of his jeans.

“Got it,” Chris says, and climbs off of Viktor, popping the button and unzipping Viktor’s fly.

Viktor makes grabby-hands in his direction, missing the press and the heat of him.

“Don’t worry!” Chris says, peeling Viktor' jeans off (they really are very tight) and tossing them on the floor. “Dramatic.”

“No offense,” Viktor says, “but like, suck my dick, Chris.”

“Hmm,” Chris says. “No offense, but, like, suck mine?”

“Chri-is!” Viktor whines, but he’s playing and Chris knows it.

“Don’t act like you aren’t always thirsty for dick, Nikiforov,” Chris says. He looks ridiculous, kneeling on the foot of the bed with a hand on his hips. “Plus, you already sweet-talked me into topping.”

He’s not wrong.

“Come here, Vik,” Chris says, soft and deep but undeniably _firm,_ the nickname falling easy and affectionate from his lips, and something swoops low in Viktor’s belly, like the feeling of the drop on a rollercoaster, and he scrambles to his knees, sitting back on his heels so he has to tilt his chin to look up at Chris.

“Oh,” Chris breathes, and then his eyes get all wicked looking down at Viktor. He’s going to take advantage of this, Viktor knows. God, Viktor hopes he does.  

“You’re gonna fall off the damn bed when I get started with you,” Viktor says, twisting his hair and tossing it over his shoulder out of the way.

“Try it,” Chris says, wrestling out of his shirt.

“I will,” Viktor says. He’s so hard it hurts, rocking back to grind himself against his heels as Chris kicks out of his jeans and fishnets and underwear. Viktor kind of forgets to help, just watches, Chris’s shoulders and back flexing and making Viktor want to touch, to feel the firmness of muscle under his fingers.

“You’re such a _princess,"_ Chris says, all dry and fond, cupping a hand around Viktor’s chin, and Viktor hisses through his teeth and rocks back again. It feels so _good,_ Chris’s other hand twisting in Viktor’s hair as Viktor rocks forward and licks up the underside of Chris’s dick.

 _"Fuck,"_ Chris says, when Viktor looks up through his eyelashes.

Viktor feels settled in his skin, his head quiet, the world small, just the weight of Chris’s dick in his mouth and the shocks that run, hot-cold up his back, when Chris bites back gasps. He likes knowing he can make Chris make sounds like that, wants to hear them again and again and again.

“Vik,” Chris chokes, tugging Viktor back by the hair. “Vik, off, fuck.”  

Viktor sits back on his heels again, swipes the back of his hand over the wet corners of his mouth and gives Chris a cocky sideways grin. Chris’s eyes flash hungry and he lunges for Viktor, knocks him flat on his back on the big bouncy hotel mattress. Viktor lets out a little laugh, because it’s so _Chris,_ but it comes out a little trembly, because he needed someone to touch his dick, like, yesterday. He shakes with it without realizing, the feel of Chris’s skin against his, shoulders and arms and chest and legs and everywhere, and Chris looks at him with his eyes soft and it makes Viktor want even more, little “ah, ah, ahs” deep in his throat.

“So good, so good,” Chris mutters, skimming his hands down Viktor’s side, kissing Viktor open-mouthed. It’s all wet and hot, and when Chris breaks the kiss he licks a stripe down his hand and reaches down and fists Viktor’s cock, finally, Viktor’s mouth opening without his permission and a little strangled noise coming out.

“Good, you’re so good, Vik,” Chris murmurs again, and then, clearer.  “Lube, hon?”

“Ah--there’s some--my bag,” Viktor says, arching his hips up to press against Chris. Words are hard.

Chris pets Viktor’s side again, soothing. “Be right back, don’t worry” he says. “Also, I love that you carry lube around in your bag,” he adds, sitting on the edge of the bed to search.

“Fuck off,” Viktor says. Viktor regrets that his bag is always a mess of granola bar wrappers and books and pens and coins because it’s taking Chris _forever_ and Viktor aches all over. It feels so solid, so all-consuming, the humming that’s been under his skin all week, and then Chris is back, warm and heavy on top of him.

“Okay, so you carry literally _everything_ around in your bag, but I still appreciate your wisdom and foresight, because you had condoms, too,” Chris says.

Viktor’s words aren’t putting themselves together well, so he just wraps a hand around the back of Chris’s neck and pulls him down for another kiss. Chris smears lube over his fingers while Viktor tries to open the condom package. His hands are shaking, irritation sour and sharp in his mouth.

“Here,” Chris says, once Viktor finally tosses the foil off the side of the bed. “Here, lemme help,” and he lays his hands over Viktor’s, helps him roll the condom on. “Vik, are you okay?” he says, nudging his fingers in between Viktor’s.

Viktor nods.

“You sure? Do you still want to do this?” he says, and he sounds so _tender_ and everything is overwhelming, for a second, but Viktor does want to do this, he wants so much, and he nods again.

“Can you say yes?” Chris says. His eyebrows are drawn together, like he’s not sure what to do.

“Yes, yes, please,” Viktor says, and the words all tumble up inside his head, _good friend, best friend, please, please, Chris._

Chris looks relieved. “Okay, okay,” he says. “I’ve got you, prettyboy.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty. Viktor likes that, preens a little as Chris wraps a hand around his dick and strokes him slow, and then he can feel his thoughts go away sharp in a little gasp when Chris starts to work a finger inside of him. Viktor’s been waiting for this, the burn-stretch so good, and he pushes back onto Chris’s finger with a hiss.

Chris fingers him until Viktor can think clearly enough to give a few performative bossy moans, which make Chris laugh, and then keeps going until Viktor feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.

“Please, please, Chris,” Viktor begs, and it comes out thin and broken and gasping and run together. “Just get me off, pleasepleaseplease, I need it so _bad,_ ” and Chris sucks in a sharp breath.

“I’ve got you,” he says, sliding a hand under Viktor’s neck and cupping the back of his head, careful and sweet. “D’you want a pillow under you, princess?”

“Yes, please,” Viktor says, and it comes out in Russian.

Chris is pretty familiar with those two words from Viktor, no matter what the language, and so he says, “up,” nudging at Viktor’s hips with the flat of his hand so he can slide a pillow underneath them.

When he slides into Viktor, Viktor thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. Chris wraps a hand loosely around Viktor’s dick, all sloppy with lube, lets Viktor fuck up into it, splays his other hand, broad and hot, over Viktor’s thigh and pulls him onto his dick deeper with every thrust. Chris doesn’t tease, now, and Viktor’s grateful: heat gathering tighter and tighter inside him, the way he’d imagined it would. His nails dig into the palms of his hands as he clenches his fists. He knows he’s twisting side to side, rocking his hips trying to get more, but he can’t stop himself, Chris looking down at him, breathing hard.

“Tell me--” Viktor says, but he can’t think clearly what he wants Chris to tell him. “Chris,” he chokes.

“Vik,” Chris says, skimming his hand up and down Viktor’s thigh. “Vik, you’re being so good. You’ve waited so long for this, yeah, princess?”

 _Yes,_ Viktor thinks, arches his back up to make the angle just right, and yes, yes, _yes,_  he comes in a big sharp swell, grinding down on Chris’s cock, the air catching in his lungs like he’s being choked for a second.

Chris fucks him slow through the aftershocks, the line of descending notes as Viktor comes down. Viktor’s legs tremble and he’s breathing as hard as he would in the final pose of a five-quad program.

Chris digs his fingers in and holds Viktor in place, cooing “good, good, good,” at Viktor, waiting for Viktor’s lead.

Viktor can feel himself get a little more lucid as he catches his breath, his eyes focusing.

“You with me again?” Chris says, smiling, teasing.

Viktor grins, wobbly, heaves in a big lungful of air. “Yeah,” he says.  “You can keep going, I think.”

“Okay,” Chris says. “Can we, like…” he tilts his head a little, thinking.

“Just rearrange me,” Viktor says, going all boneless on the sheets. “I’m your boy.”

“C’mere, then” Chris says, rough, and Viktor pushes himself up on his elbows and lets Chris manhandle him until he’s sitting in Chris’s lap.

“You’re so bad at being bossy, Giacometti,” Viktor says.

“Yeah, but you still wanted to bang, though,” Chris says, smug. Viktor retaliates by rolling his hips, makes Chris let out a little choked moan. It sends wavy shocks of overstimulation up Viktor’s spine, and _yesyesyes_. He feels the way he does after drinking a protein shake: intellectually, he knows he should be set, but physically? He’s still hungry as _fuck._  He rides Chris slow, Chris swearing and scratching his nails down Viktor’s thighs, and sets his teeth against the skin of Chris’s neck, Chris mixing English and French, telling Viktor that he’s pretty, that he’s hot, that he’s perfect, don’t stop. His voice gets higher and thinner as he gets closer, Viktor knows. Viktor sucks two fingers into his mouth, eyes locked on Chris’s.

“Vik, Vik, _Vik,_ ” Chris chants, and he leans his forehead into Viktor’s shoulder as he comes with a stiff little shudder.

Viktor works his hips slow until he feels Chris relax, and then stills. They wrap up in each other, matching grins as they catch their breath.

“Good friend, best friend,” Viktor says, petting Chris’s curls.

“My dick is in your ass, hell yes, I’m the best friend,” Chris says, and Viktor laughs, carefully lifts his hips and slides off of Chris’s cock. Lube drips cold down his thighs, and it’s kind of gross but kind of good, too.

“Shit, Nikiforov,” Chris says.

Viktor tosses his arms around Chris and tips them both back onto the mattress.

“Oof!” Chris says, and they giggle, giddy and sweaty and filthy, and then lay quiet for a few seconds.

“Okay,” Chris says after a minute, sitting up with a sigh. “Since I’m so nice, I’ll go get you a washcloth.”

“So-o nice,” Viktor confirms, and Chris presses a kiss to his forehead before rolling out of the bed. He tosses the condom in the trash and heads towards the bathroom, and Viktor wraps the top sheet around his waist and goes to the window.

The city lights below look the same as the city lights in any other city, and Viktor still feels restless, the itch rushing back. He wonders, absently, if he should go back out and see if he can talk Chris into dropping acid or something, but it’s competition season, and if he and Chris miss their flights tomorrow they will be dead, courtesy of Yakov and Josef, and besides, Chris will raise an eyebrow and say, ‘I am going to _sleep,'_ probably, and Viktor can’t sleep,

“Oh my god, aren’t you tired? Pft, if I’d known you were gonna be pacing I would’ve made you get the washcloth yourself,” Chris says.

Viktor hadn’t even realizing he was pacing until Chris pointed it out.

“Sit,” Chris says, pointing to the bed.

“You know I don’t listen to you unless we’re fucking,” Viktor says, plopping down anyways.

“I mean, you did sit down though,” Chris says.

“Coincidence,” Viktor says.

Chris throws a washcloth at him.

 

“I’m pretty sure my vocabulary was narrowed down to like, two words the whole time,” Viktor says, once they’re all cleaned up. He’s lying on his back with the sheets still wrapped around his waist, Chris sitting cross-legged next to him. A couple of guys that Viktor’s fucked have pointed out that it’s a little weird to hear Viktor give them a play-by-play afterward. He and Chris are pretty used to it. Their coaches make them watch _videos_ after their skates and point out every under-or-over-rotation and lackluster figure and sloppy step sequence. Performance discussion is kind of a habit for both of them.

“Yep. ‘Please’ and ‘fuck me,’” Chris says with a grin.

“For one thing,” Viktor says, “that’s three words. And for another thing, I don’t think I said ‘fuck me’ even _once._ ”

“You sure?” Chris says.

“Stop!” Viktor says, and swats his arm. Chris laughs, flops down on the bed next to Viktor and wraps his arms around Viktor’s shoulders, shoving his face into Viktor’s chest.

“F’r real, though,” Chris mumbles. “Are you okay, Vik?”

If Viktor laughed and shrugged it off, he’d be lying, and he can’t lie to Chris, especially not when they’re all stuck together with sweat and spit, lying wrapped up together in the dark hollow space of the hotel room. “I was being kind of weird, wasn’t I,” Viktor says.

“I didn’t mind,” Chris says.

“But it was weird,” Viktor says.

“Vik, it was _hot_ ,” Chris says, fiercely. “I didn’t mind at all. It was just really…”

“Weird!” Viktor says.

“Intense?” Chris says.

“Yeah,” Viktor says.

“Okay, that time when we were both really drunk, I think it was in, like, Paris, and we were having sex, and you were topping and you were so not into it and you were being a brat about it and you started crying because you missed your dog?” Chris says.

“Oh-h my god, shut up, I remember that now,” Viktor says, clapping his hands over his mouth. “No-o-o.”

“That was weird,” Chris says.

“Oh my god, please just let me forget that,” Viktor groans.

“Never,” Chris says.

They lie there, quiet, for a while. Viktor wishes he could sleep. He realizes he’s tired, but his brain still asks for music, for sex, for _something_. Chris wiggles his fingers in between Viktor’s and squeezes. Viktor never had a best friend before Chris. He lets people see very carefully chopped up pieces of himself, on the ice and during sex and in interviews. He remembers Chris’s careful hand in his hair, when Viktor had begged with his words slipping away. Thinking about it makes him feel funny. He thinks he would feel bad, and selfish, if it hadn’t been for how gentle Chris had been. Thinking of Chris’s praise, the way he’d said “Vik, it’s okay, it’s okay,” like he _saw_ Viktor and he didn’t mind, not just didn’t mind, said “good, good, _pretty,_ ” and grinned at him and elbowed him when Viktor was spread out on the bed afterward and said “move over, prettyboy,” still makes Viktor feel warm and soft and safe.

“I think...I think there’s something wrong with me,” Viktor says, because there wouldn’t be any point to being joking or coy, now. “I can’t stop feeling like I need to have sex or run or dance, or something, and I can’t sleep,” he says, everything coming out in an ugly black slick like an oil spill. “I just, like...can’t stop thinking.”

Chris’s stubble scratches against Viktor’s chest as he tilts his head up. Viktor can see his eyes turn up towards him under those long eyelashes. “Even when you skate?”

“Never when I skate,” Viktor says. “I feel like I’m skating better than ever. When I’m on the ice, that’s the only time when I can, like, focus. And I feel like I have so much energy, and I don’t feel afraid, like at all. I feel like I could land a fucking...quad flip, or something.”

“You _would_ be the first to land a quad flip,” Chris says. “That sounds kind of...fucking scary, though.”

“Yeah, it is, kind of,” Viktor says. Chris is quiet for a minute, and Viktor feels like he needs to say something, to explain or take it back or neutralize it. What he says is: “you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Chris says. “Oh my god. Vik. You’re my best friend. Why would I be mad?”

“I just don’t want--I don’t want to bother you. I mean, you don’t need to deal with it,” Viktor says.

“Listen, Nikiforov,” Chris says, propping himself up to look Viktor in the eye. “Do you think I’m just best friends with you ‘cause you’re pretty and we can fuck and dance and whatever? ‘Cause you win medals? Don’t be dense.”

“You win medals, too,” Viktor says.

“Exactly,” Chris says, circling a hand towards himself, presumably to signal Viktor to keep the compliments rolling in. “Go on, go on!"

“You’re pretty, too,” Viktor says.

“I could get used to this,” Chris says.

Viktor waggles his eyebrows.

“Sorry, but no, I’m, like, dead,” Chris says.

Viktor shrugs. “No, I was just kidding. I figured you probably didn’t have whatever weird,” Viktor gestures in the general direction of his head, “shit is going on in here.”

“Sex monster powers?” Chris says. “That’s a joke. But like...when we were having sex, did everything feel real? I mean, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. If you don’t want to think about it too much, you know.”

“I think...I think it felt real,” Viktor says. “I haven’t slept more than a couple hours in, like, six days probably? So I can’t…”

Chris winces. They’ve spent quite a few sleepless weekends together, but that was during the off-season, when they could take a few tabs of E and spend a whole day sleeping afterward.

“Listen, you’d probably feel a lot better if you slept,” Chris says. “I have melatonin, Josef bought it for me ‘cause I couldn’t fall asleep the past few nights either, if you want some?”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Viktor says.

Chris shrugs, lays his head down on Viktor’s chest again. “I was nervous.”

“Really?” Viktor says. He doesn’t get nervous: it’s a foreign country to him.

“It’s my first time at Europeans," Chris says, and huh. Viktor’s been to Europeans three times. It’s a familiar face now, and he hadn’t really thought of the fact that it wasn’t to everyone.

“I got bronze on my first time,” Viktor says, and Chris hmps.

“So are you going to fall asleep with me or not, Nikiforov?” he says.

“If it works,” Viktor says fervently.

It does: he sleeps like a baby. It’s probably the best sleep of his life. He wakes up to his phone ringing, Chris sleeping with his face jammed into the pillow and an arm dangling over Viktor’s waist.

Viktor’s a morning person. His mind clears up pretty quick, and he tests his chest, finds himself feeling. Not steady, but steadier, at least.

“Chr-i-is,” Viktor says, voice creaky with sleep, poking Chris’s shoulder. “Sleeping beauty...I think we gotta get up...”

Chris just worms himself deeper into the little comforter/sheet cocoon that’s wrapped itself around them. Viktor’s phone rings again, and then Chris’s starts ringing, too, and Chris groans.

“Giacometti!” Viktor says, pushing himself up to sit leaning against the headboard. “Wake up!”

“Fuck off,” Chris says, because he is very firmly not a morning person.

Someone’s pounding at the door. It’s either Josef or Yakov, or maybe both of them.

Chris sighs and flips onto his back. “They got us now,” he says, grins up at the ceiling. His eyes dart to Viktor, and Viktor grins back.

Chris surges up, takes Viktor’s face in his hands and pulls him down to a little rough off-centered kiss before letting go and flopping back down on the pillow. His eyelids are still droopy with sleep, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with a smile.

“Did you get some rest?” he says.

“ _Yes_ ,” Viktor says. “And it was amazing.”

“Good,” Chris says. “Jesus, that shit works. I feel like it should maybe be illegal."

“Wouldn't stop you if it was,” Viktor says. “Lie down and wake up, I’ll get your stuff, yeah?”

“Aw, you’re pampering me,” Chris says, rolling onto his side and pulling the comforter over his shoulders.

Viktor slides out of bed, hunting in the corners for their clothes, tossing Chris’s fishnets in his face and turning Chris’s jeans right-side in.

He wouldn’t say they’re decent by the time they answer the door, but Viktor thinks they’ve achieved the delicate balance of not showing their coaches, like, their whole entire dicks but getting dressed in a short enough time that Yakov didn’t have a heart attack and fly back to Russia and leave Viktor at the hotel.

“Thanks,” he whispers in Chris’s ear when they hug goodbye, rocking each other back and forth while Yakov shoves his hands in his pocket and mutters under his breath.

Josef just shrugs and pulls out his BlackBerry.

“Vik, anytime,” Chris says, hugging him even tighter.

“Okay, okay, break it up!” Yakov says. “We’re going to miss our flight, you still have to get changed, Viktor, if you try to get on the flight in those jeans, you’re going to lose circulation and get a blood clot and be in the _hospital_ \--”

“Call me!” Chris says, shaping his hand into the approximate shape of a phone and wiggling it by his ear, as Yakov gets Viktor by the arm and Josef gets Chris by the shoulder and they both got towed apart.

“Of course,” Viktor says, tossing his hair over his shoulder.

They blow each other kisses all the way down the hall.

Viktor begs Yakov until he relents and gives him some Benadryl before the plane ride. Plane rides are bad enough as it is: Viktor’s always had more energy than he knew what to do with, the kind of kid whose mom apologized to teachers when he was in their class. The thought of spending hours crammed in an airplane seat in the state he’d been in yesterday had been hellish. Now, even though he still feels prickly all over with the need for motion, it’s duller, more manageable. He probably doesn’t need the Benadryl, but it’s nice to sleep again.

 _also write this down or whatever you do: ill top next time_ he texts Chris when their plane lands.

 _WOW god is real and im gay_ Chris texts back. _and holy shit, i saw michele crispino get THISCLOSE to blowing a fucking blood vessel_

_because he thought that adrien perez was trying to give his number to his sister but he was actually trying to give his number to michele_

_AND THEN michele got THISCLOSE to getting socked in the face because perez was soooo fucking mad that michele thought he was straight PROBABLY THE BEST THING IVE EVER SEEN_

_WAIT!!!_ Viktor texts back. _adrien likes dudes????? i don’t know why i didn’t realize that but i guess he kind of gave off straight vibes???_

 _I GUESS NOT_ Chris texts, _your gaydar SUCKS anyway vik lets arrange the 3some_

 _sounds gay im in,_ Viktor texts.

“ _Viktor!”_ Yakov calls. “Put that thing away and come fetch your suitcase, or it’s staying here.”

“Coming!” Viktor calls, shoving his phone into his pocket. Georgi’s texting, too, absently wandering into the flow of foot traffic outside of the gate.

“Georgi!” Yakov bellows, and heads for the baggage claim, cursing Steve Jobs all the way.

Viktor takes a deep breath and follows. He’s home. He will see Makkachin, and he can walk around the city when he needs to move, without even having to worry about getting lost. The buzz isn’t gone, but he’s held it off for another day. He wants to see his dog. He’ll figure it out later.

He pulls out his phone again now that Yakov’s back is turned, texts Chris as he walks: _Love you xoxo_. It’s good to have a friend, better to have a best friend. It’s nice to have someone he can be a little ugly around.

_Love you too vik *smootch*_

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE PORN AND WHAT WORKS any comments abt what did/didn't work would be greatly appreciated!!


End file.
